Home is Behind
by Dorian Gray's Secret
Summary: Elizabeth Mayson isn't your average hunter—hell, she's not sure what she is. One thing she does know: her best friends are Dean and Sam Winchester and she has to help them find John. Who knows, maybe she'll learn a few things about herself along the way! Set in season one so far, Dean/OC later
1. Chapter One

**Prologue**

"Where are you, you creepy son of a bitch," I growl, hands balled into fists. This guy isn't gonna make it out of this alley alive, that I know for sure. I've tracked him too long for him to just escape again. "Come on, you're not Houdini!" The man I've been tracking comes out of nowhere, his fist connecting with my jaw. Groaning, I get back on my feet. Shit, he's stronger than before.

The creature in front of me lets out a dark chuckle, backhanding me before pinning me to the brick wall behind me. "I nearly forgot how fun this was," the creature smirks, his breath reeking of rotted meat—probably a corpse. "You hunters are just too easy!" None of us hunters have faced this thing before; I just know it needs to be stopped.

From what I could gather, I was about to be killed very slowly—it'll most likely hurt like hell too. Yeah, that's just great. I take a dagger out of my sleeve and ram it into the thing's side, making it howl in pain and back away from me.

"Ya know," I say breathlessly," I have no idea what you are, but I bet that hurt like bitch." The creature lets out a growl (sounding a lot like my neighbor's Chihuahua) before throwing the dagger away and lunging at me. I'm knocked into the wall again, leaving a small crack. "Ah, you damn whatever you are!" Using the last of my energy, I kick it in the stomach as hard as I can, forcing him to fall backwards and hit his head on the metal dumpster behind him.

Clapping alerts me to someone's presence and I tense immediately. If it's another monster I'm screwed. "Way to go, Liza," says an all too familiar voice before I can make out the man it belongs to in the dim lighting—a little short, athletic, short brown hair, green eyes.

"Dean Winchester," I say, rolling my hazel eyes skyward. "Unless you plan on buying some of my niece's Girl Scout cookies then you can—"I'm cut off when the creature jumps on top of me, hands around my throat. I simply grab my machete from where I'd dropped it twenty minutes ago and decapitate it. "Would you just stay dead? Anyway, Dean, buy cookies or go away."

"John's missing." I look up at him, squinting to make him out better. "He was on an hunt and I haven't heard from him in a while." He's serious, rare for Dean. Nodding, I push the creature off me and get to my feet again.

"You think it's the demon that got Mary?" Mary Winchester was murdered by a demon twenty-two years ago and John vowed to kill it. Dean shrugs his shoulders, wiping some blood off my lightly tanned face. "I'll help, but what will I tell Lilly?" Lilly is my three year old niece that I've pretty much raised.

"Tell her that you have to go away on business to catch the bad guys…Oh yeah, and that I want some thin mints." I let out a breathless laugh, letting Dean help me down the street to his black Chevy Impala. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Shut up, Dean, you know that's not gonna do you any good—after all, I care about your dad too." Dean nods and we get in his car, heading to my house in Oklahoma, not noticing more things coming up behind us. "So, where we headed after I pack my stuff?"

"To spring Sammy from the boring life of college." Snorting, I shake my head.

"I'll bet he's gonna just love that." It feels good to be back after two years, even if the circumstances aren't the greatest.

**(A/N): Not the greatest chapter, but I've never been the best at writing prologues so bear with me.**


	2. Chapter Two

Dean and I walk into my apartment a couple hours after a hunt—we head right for my kitchen to get some much needed alcohol. The thing I'd taken down, merely seconds before Dean announced his presence had three other friends—all nastier than the last. Groaning as I enter the living room again, I flop backwards onto my couch, laying my sore feet in Dean's lap.

"Sissy," a small, curious voice asks. I open my eyes again and see my niece standing in the door way of the living room, holding her stuffed teddy bear close to her chest—green eyes widening as she looks over at Dean. Lilly's never met him before and so is cautious around him. She takes a small step forward, eyes never leaving Dean.

"It's alright, sweetie," I smile, beckoning for her to come sit with us as I sit up on the couch. "This is Aunt Liz's friend, Dean. He plans on buying some cookies." Dean gives the four-year-old a dazzling smile, holding out a hand for her to shake—she does so reluctantly. "Hon, I'm gonna have to go away for a while so your mommy and daddy are gonna take care of you...I'll visit when I can." After my sister had died, Lilly was taken to a foster home (a good one, at least) and I was able to convince the judge to let me keep her at my house every now and again since my "job" made it impossible to keep her fulltime. "Are you okay with cutting this weekend a little short?"

"Are you gonna go beat up the bad guys, Aunt Liz?" I give her a sad smile, nodding my head. "Is your friend going to help?" Suddenly her eyes get big, looking like she's just thought of something earth-shattering. "Are you two going to get married?! Oh, oh, can I be the flower-thrower-person?" Dean and I share an awkward look, memories of our dads teasing the two of us coming back.

"Uh, no, we're just really good friends," dean assures her. "But, if I ever marry someone you'll be the first person I go to about flowers." Her eyes light up and she jumps off my lap and into his, making him pinky promise. "Yeah, yeah, of course I promise; what kind of man wouldn't want someone adorable at their wedding to throw flowers at people?" Lilly giggles, blushing a little at the compliment.

"Alright, munchkin, go get your stuff together 'cause we're leaving first thing tomorrow." She nods, running back to her room. "I think she has a crush on you now; way to go, slick—charming a four-year-old takes a lot of talent I didn't think you had." He gives me a fake glare, pouncing as I try to get up and straddling my back.

"Do I really need to remind you just how _charming _I can be," he asks in a low, seductive voice that sends shivers down my spine.

"Dean," I breathe," Lilly's a very light sleeper."

"Then we'll be quiet," he mumbles, turning me over and placing a feather-light kiss on my lips. God, how I've missed this.

**(A/N): Yeah, another short chapter, but I'm still warming up. The next chapter will start season one!**


	3. Chapter Three: Pilot

**22 Years Ago—Lawrence Kansas, Mayson Household**

A yellow-eyed man stands in an infant's room, the child's small hand gripping one of his fingers tightly. He has a devilish smile on his face, knowing what the child is to become—having vampire blood running through her veins, mixed with her own mother's demon-human blood. The infant, a little girl, was only six months old and already the few teeth she has are sharper than normal. Yes, this child would do well in his army.

He knew the child's father well—he was also the one who convinced the vampire to take the girl's mother and, after the child was born, the mother was changed, though she didn't make it. The man's yellow eyes show mischief, reveling in the genius of his plan. The child, Elizabeth, has three different races in her—demon, vampire, and human. Unfortunately, the human blood seems to be the most prevalent. _No matter_, he thinks to himself, _there are many other children like her_. This race was Lucifer's favorite and demons wanted to keep it alive; whether they were on Lucifer's side or just wanted the children for themselves.

The child down the street, an infant named Sam Winchester, could quite possibly his most valuable asset yet! He's the son of a hunter, well, ex-hunter anyway. He'd visit there next and give the boy a taste of demon blood. One day he will take over this world and create a hell on earth and these two will be the ones to help him do just that. First, Elizabeth must visit hell to make sure that the demon blood in her can take over.

**22 Years Later—California, Stanford University**

Dean parks his car outside some apartment buildings, his fingers drumming on the wheel in time with a Metallica song. I was to stay hidden in the backseat so that Sam thinks it's just him and Dean going to find their dad—Dean's idea of a guilt trip. If Sam decides to stay at Stanford then it'd just be Dean and I, not that I mind.

"Ya know, you have to actually get out of the car to convince Sammy to come with us," I point out when Dean doesn't move to get out of the Impala. He turns in his seat to look at me, a scowl on his face. I point out his window towards the apartment building. "Go get him or I will." My friend sighs before finally getting out of the car. "Stubborn turkey."

I climb into the backseat and turn on my iPod, Emilie Autumn's haunting voice filling my head. Yawning, I try to make sure I stay awake until I know whether or not Sammy's goin' on the witch hunt with Dean and me.

**Ten Minutes Later**

I jump when a duffel bag is thrown on me and someone slams their door shut. I guess my exhaustion won out after all; oh well. Opening my eyes I see two people in the front seat: Sammy and Dean. How shall I tell Sam it's not just the two of them and that if he throws a bag on me again he'll have to have surgery to remove it?

"I'm surprised you didn't drag Elizabeth into this," Sam says, fiddling with something. "Then again, Blondie's probably busy with her kid." I raise an eyebrow, staying quiet. "And even if she wasn't we'd have to have separate rooms so I'm not disturbed by you guy's activities." Dean's mouth opens slightly before closing, eyes widening.

Sitting up, I wrap my arms around Sammy's neck and whisper in his ear," Come on, it's not like I get loud or anything." Sam jumps, eyes wide. "By the way, Dean and I have never—"

"And we will never," Dean interrupts, glaring at his younger brother. That's a lie, but Sasquatch doesn't need to know that. I Gibbs slap Sam and lean back again, picking up my iPod. "You better watch what you say around Liza, she may have got a little soft but she could still kick your ass." I nod smugly at the lie, drifting back to sleep.

"Sleeping Beauty," Dean calls, walking out of a convenience store," want some breakfast?" I hold my hand out my window.

"Gimme some gummy lifesavers," I yawn, sitting up and running my fingers through my tangled blonde hair. I hate mornings so much it's unreal. Sam is looking through Dean's cassette tape collection, one foot hanging out his open door; Dean's finishing putting gas in the Impala. "C'mon, Dean, I'm wasting away here!" I'm thrown a bag full of my delicious candy, the only candy I can eat and enjoy at the same time. "'Bout damn time."

Sam gives me a small smirk before look out his door at Dean. "So, how'd you pay for that stuff," he asks," you and dad still running credit card scams?" I snort, happily munching away.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean says defensively," besides, all we do is apply it's not our fault they send us the cards." He makes a good point.

"Yeah, and what names did you write on the application this time?"

Dean rolls his eyes as he gets in the Impala and handing me a big bottle of my wake-up juice (AKA: Mountain Dew). "Uh, Burt Aframian...and his son, Hector."

"Ah," I laugh. "You should've put Burt and Ernie!" Dean rolls his eyes giving me his usual goofy grin. "Ya know, now that I think of it that does sound a little far-fetched." Sam raises an eyebrow, his door now shut. "…Just a little bit."

"Hey, Liz, agree or disagree: Dean's needs to update his cassettes?" I pause mid-chew as I think about the question. Sam has a valid point and one day we may need to buy a new car and it might not have a tape player (unless we go to my uncle Bobby's salvage yard, of course) and I could always make him a CD with his favorite songs on it. Eventually I nod in agreement.

Dean gives the two of us a wounded look, like a puppy that just got his tail stepped on. "Why—and how dare you side with this overeducated college student?"

"For one, they're cassette tapes," Sam points out. "For two: Black Sabbath, Motor Head, and Metallica? They're the greatest hits of mullet rock." Hey, I like Metallica! Dean takes the Metallica tape from Sam and opens its case.

"House rules, Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." I raise my hand, a smirk playing on my lips. "Backseat keeps shotgun in line." I lower my hand, content to do just that. The car starts and Back in Black fills the car, drowning out whatever it was Sam was attempting to say about being a fat ten-year-old.


	4. Chapter Four

"I-spy..." I trail off, spotting familiar red, white, and blue flashing lights ahead of us, "Donut-munching, barrel-assed, pud-pulling sissies." I've seen Boondock Saints too many times to count, so some colorful phrases have leaked into my brain; sue me. Dean pulls the Impala to the side of the road as we come closer to the cops and the bridge they've blocked off with crime scene tape. "Think it's another of whatever the hell we're dealing with?"

"One way to find out," Dean responds, reaching over Sam to get in the glove compartment, finding his box of fake ID's—tossing one at me. "Get a move on." Sam looks over his shoulder at me, an incredulous look on his face. The two of us jump out and hurry after Dean. Two cops are half-bent inside the same car on opposite sides, talking to each other.

"This guy was dating your daughter wasn't he," the African-American cop asks, looking concerned. The cop he was talking to nods sadly. "How's Amy doin'?"

"She's puttin' up missing posters downtown," the other guy answers. That's when Dean decides to butt in.

"You fellas had another one like this only last month, right?" The black cop stands up, looking curious.

"And who are you?"

"Federal Marshals." Dean shows his badge with a completely straight face—having done this process a thousand times. The cop looks a little suspicious now, but I wisely keep my mouth shut. I tend to keep quiet when the whole suspicious-cop-subject pops up.

"You three are a little _young _for Marshals, aren't ya?" I give the cop a wry smile, shaking my head before looking around me. They had a few cops in the water on either side of the bridge; trying to see if they could find a body or clue, no doubt.

"Well, that's kind of ya," Dean smirks, walking over to the car and peering in. "You _did _have another one like this, right?" The cop nods, telling us that it happened a mile up the road. I get the urge to cough, but fight it back, not wanting Dean or Sam to think I'm getting sick.

"Did you know the victim," Sam asks.

"Dude, this is a small town—if you don't know everybody you got issues," I answer for the cop, my Okie twang noticeable. "Any connections between the vics besides the gender?"

"No." The cop shakes his head, giving me a disappointed look; one all cops got when they knew their trail was going cold and some kid could be out there somewhere waiting to be rescued.

"You got a theory," Dean asks as Sam and I walk over to him.

"Serial murder, kidnapping ring..." At least he doesn't have a serial-crusher theory; that would be too weird for words.

"Well, that's exactly the kind of crappy police work I'd expect out of you guys," Dean smiles, wincing as Sam steps on his foot and I elbow his sharply in the ribs. That idjit needs to learn what to say and how to say it. Sam excuses us and we begin to walk away, feeling the cop's incredulous gaze on our backs. Bet he wasn't used to people talkin' to him like that! When he was sure the cop was no longer watching us Dean smacks the back of Sam's head and, without missing a beat, flicks my forehead.

"What was that for," Sam hisses, so as not to be overheard by anyone but Dean and I.

"Why d'you gotta step on my foot?"

"Why d'you gotta talk to police like that?" I roll my eyes, hitting both their shoulders in an attempt to get them to shut up; the only thing I accomplished is getting flicked again by both of them. Dean stops in front of us, forcing us to stop as well.

"C'mon, they don't really know what's goin' on. We're all alone on this and if we're gonna find dad we gotta get to the bottom of this ourselves." I signal that there are people standing behind Dean; two FBI agents and one good ol' fashion cop with a beer gut.

"Can I help you three," the country cop asks.

"No thanks, we were just leaving," Dean assures him. As the FBI guys walk past he nods in greeting," Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." I snicker, hand covering my mouth. We get in the Impala, deciding to go find the missing guy's girlfriend and ask her some questions. As we pull away from the bridge I lapse into a coughing fit—a headache threatening to split my skull in two. "You alright, Liza?" I nod, unable to answer him because of my lack of air. "Sounds like you need to lay off the cigarettes." I hold up my middle finger. "Eh, maybe later."

"Why don't you get us a room at a motel and we can swing by to get ya when we got some kind of lead or go eat," Sam suggests.

"I'm alright," I say in a scratchy voice.

"Nah, Sammy's right and it'll save us time later." Rolling my eyes again I nod my head in acquiescence.

Dean drops me off at the local motel, making sure I had a credit card. "What name are you goin' by," Sam asks, looking a little amused. I shrug with a small smile on my face.

"Riley MacManus, my family emigrated here from Dublin about two years ago." Dean shakes his head, recognizing the last name from Boondock Saints. Like I said, it's my little obsession—he went with the names of rock stars and I went with movies for my fake ID's and credit cards. Time to get me a room and the boys can either share with me or get one of their own, but I don't rightly care. As soon as I'm in the safety of my room I take out my cell and call a good friend of mine; he's exactly like me, whatever the hell I am.

"Zane Daniels," answers the groggy voice on the other end. He's probably just getting up since he starts his day around noon or so.

"Hey, it's Elizabeth—I was wondering if our kind had any sort of viruses." This would be the first time I've ever gotten sick with something worse than a cold.

"Um, yeah, we got a few; why?" I can't answer him for a minute as the coughing begins again, taking my breath away just like last time. "Have you been doin' that a lot here lately?" He sounds wide awake know and from the rustling sounds I know he's looking through his papers. Zane reminds me of my uncle Bobby.

"Yeah," I answer, voice rough and barely audible even to my own ears. "I get dizzy from time to time, I suddenly have asthma, and I hurt _everywhere_." He sighs, letting out a frustrated growl.

"Well, it sounds to me like you got a bad case."

"Bad case a' what?"

"I haven't thought up a name for it yet, but basically everyone like us goes through it at some point in their lives at least once; most survive but there is still a fraction that dies from it." I groan, flopping back onto my queen-sized bed. "Good news is that only our kind gets it and it ain't contagious. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to find a way to get the girl I slept with last night outta my house." I hit the end call button and lay my cell phone on the bedside table. I think I'll take a nap until one of the boys call me.

* * *

I stare down at the rushing water below the bridge, Sam and Dean on either side of me. When they called me twenty minutes ago I was stuck in the bathroom, emptying my belly of my not-so-yummy Doritos. Now we're back at the bridge where our ghost committed suicide. "So, this is where Constance took the swan dive."

"I give her a 6.7 for comin' back from the dead," I quip, pulling my leather jacket closer to me. "Ya think John was here?" Dean shrugs, walking further down the bridge, claiming that since he was chasing our ghost and we're chasing him the odds were good.

"No what," Sam asks, walking beside me.

"Keep digging, it might take a while, but we'll find him," Dean answers, not turning to look at us.

"I've gotta be back by Monday." What the hell's goin' on Monday that's more important than finding your daddy?

"You're serious about that? What, you're just gonna become some lawyer and marry your girl?"

"Maybe I will, why shouldn't I?"

"Does Jessica know about all the things you've done, what you're doing right now?" Ah, Sammy's got himself a girlfriend! When this is all over maybe I'll get to meet her.

"No, and I never will." I walk away from the guys, knowing an argument was about to happen. I swear that's how they like to pass the time. I look down at the water again, resting my arms on the railing and my head on my arms while I wait the guy's to get their fight out of their system. It'll pass and they'll be back to joking around in no time. When I turn around again I see Dean has Sam's shirt in his hands and is pinning Sam against one of the beams that's keeping the bridge upright.

"Don't talk about mom like that." That was a low blow to bring their mom in, Dean loved her and it's still a sensitive topic that he tries desperately to avoid; meanwhile, Sam only knew her from stories and pictures. Dean lets go of Sam and takes a few steps back, turning to face my direction; his eyes widen as he looks at something behind me. When I turn again I can make out a beautiful woman in a white dress standing on the edge of the bridge, looking over at us. When she falls forward the three of us run over to where we saw her. "Where'd she go?"

"I have no clue," I gasp, looking around. Dean's car starts, headlights nearly blinding me as the three of us step away from the railing to look at it. "Who the hell's drivin' your car?" Dean pulls the car keys out of his jacket pocket, looking lost. The Impala surges forward and I haul ass, sprinting a few feet before jumping up onto the railing, struggling not to lose my grip on the slick metal.


	5. Chapter Five

I pull myself up and over the railing, landing on the hood of the now-stopped Impala and rolling onto the bridge. "Dean," Sam shouts, still perched on the railing and looking down. Standing, I walk over to him and join in on looking for the arrogant bastard. "Dean!"

"What," Dean calls, crawling out of the water and onto some mud.

"You alright?" Dean holds up his hand, making the OK sign.

"I'm super." I let out a long breath, my legs giving out and making me fall onto the boards of the bridge, leaning against the railing. When Dean finally gets up and back over to us he begins to check on his baby, making sure there was no damage done to it.

"Ya know this whole hunting evil thing wouldn't be so bad if the ghosts would stop trying to force me off a damn bridge," I tell them breathlessly from the backseat, feet dangling from the car. Dean nods in agreement, covered from head to toe in filth.

"That Constance chick, what a BITCH," Dean shouts, leaning against the car. I scrunch up my nose as a disgusting smell invades my nostrils, making a bout of nausea roll over me.

"You smell like a toilet," Sam tells his brother, who looks over at me with a scowl. "Let's head back to the hotel." I pull my feet up as Sam shuts my door, and then we start for town again. We have to stop a couple times on the way back so I can puke, claiming Dean's smell as the problem. I know I won't be able to fool them for long, but I'll try for as long as I can.

* * *

Dean drops his credit card onto the desk to pay for him and Sam a room, saying that he didn't want his odor to make me any sicker; I had no disagreements with that. "You guys having a reunion or something," the old man behind the desk asks as he looks down at the credit card then back up to us.

"What do you mean," Sam asks.

"Had another guy, Burt Aframian, buy out a room for a whole month." Dean, Sam, and I share a look, curious to find out if John had left anything in his room before taking off and leaving the job to us.

"Could you tell me the room number, we weren't supposed to get here for another week and we want to surprise him." That's the Sammy I remember, always thinking on his feet. Turns out John's room is only a few doors down from mine and as soon as they get the key to their room we take off. I quickly pick the lock and we step inside. The walls are covered in pictures and news articles, Dean clicks on a lamp telling us that John hadn't been here for a few days.

"No shit." I walk over to one of the pictures; it was blurry, but you could just make out that the figure in it had on a white dress. It reminded me of a picture in one of the scary stories books I used to read all the time...something to do with a woman and a hotel, I think. I move to the next picture showing people getting burned at the stake. There were sticky notes and string connecting a few things together, but I keep going back to the first picture I saw.

"A woman in white." My eyes widen and I spin to look at the guys, thankful that Sam remembered; at least, I thought he remembered until I saw a picture of the girl from the bridge and _woman in white _written on some tape above it.

"If that's what we're dealing with then dad would've destroyed her corpse," Dean points out, turning to face Sam and me.

"She might have another weakness."

"Dad would've wanted to make sure, he'd dig her up. Does the article tell us where she's buried?" Sam shakes his head, moving to look at the other stuff on the walls. "Hmm, why don't you go talk to her husband, I'll get cleaned up, and Liza can see what she can make of all…this." He gestures around the room at the various materials.

"Hey, Dean, what I said about mom and dad, I'm sorry—" Dean holds up a hand to cut him off.

"No chick flick moments."

"Fine, jerk."

"Bitch."

"You're both assholes, can we move on now, I laugh, sitting down on the lumpy bed."When you're done with your shower you can drop me off at the library." Dean shrugs, walking into the bathroom with a change of clothes.

* * *

I let out another sneeze as I flip through a book I'd brought along with me. Dean finally comes out of the bathroom, no longer smelling like a dumpster. "I'm goin' to get something to eat, want anything?" Sam shakes his head, listening to his voicemails. "What about you, Liza, wanna go with me?" Throwing my tissue in the trash bin I stand up and follow him out the door. Jesus, why does the sun have to be so damn bright? We get halfway to the Impala when we notice two policemen talking to the owner of the motel, who points in our direction. Dean takes out his cell. "Cops, take off...They spotted us; go find dad." He hangs up and we turns to face the cops. "Problem officers?"

"Where's your other partner," the black cop from earlier asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"What other partner," I ask, eyebrows knitting together as I fake ignorance. The cop gestures for the guy beside him to check the room we just came out of.

"Fake U.S. Marshals, fake credit cards, y'all got anything real?"

"My boobs," Dean quips. The cop looks at me.

"Oh, yeah, these are a hundred percent mine," I nod with a shit-eating grin. My arms are cuffed behind my back and Dean and I are stuffed into the back of a police car. "Think we can make a stop at the dinner?"

**Damn, two chapters in one day, I think I'm gettin' pretty good at this updating stuff!**


	6. Chapter Six

I yawn, looking up at the cop in front of me, fighting to keep my eyes open. This virus is hitting me fast and hard. "What's your name, the _real _one?"

"I've already told you a thousand times, it's Kahlan Amnell." I rub my eyes with the hand that isn't cuffed to the table, letting out another series of coughs and sneezes. "Jesus, do have anything here for a nasty cold?" The cop shakes his head, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him, trying to find out what's going on out there. A few minutes later when everything is quiet again Dean opens my door and walks over to me, using a paperclip to pick the lock of the cuff. "I need to start carrying one of those with me."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky. Let's get outta here before the cops come back." We climb down the fire escape and into an alley, heading towards the phone booth. "Sammy made a fake call to the police and we gotta find out where he is."

"Well, he's obviously not in jail." Dean chuckles, taking my hand in his and speeding up to a brisk walk. I hand him a few quarters so he can make the call, looking around us for any stray police cars.

"Fake 911 phone call, I don't know, that's pretty illegal...Listen, we gotta talk...Sammy, would you shut up for a second?...That's what I'm trying to say, dad's gone...He left his journal...We've got coordinates...no idea yet...Sam? Sam!" Dean slams the phone down, taking my hand again and beginning to run this time. "We're headed to Breckinridge road, I think Sammy's in trouble." It's not long until I'm gasping for what little breath I did have, but I don't slow down. We have to help Sammy.

* * *

Dean raises his pistol, aiming for the ghost sitting in Sam's lap; the driver's side window of the Impala shattering. Sam immediatly sits up and starts the car, crashing into the broken-down house. Dean and I run in after him, worried as hell. "Sam, you okay?" Sam nods, climbing out of the car and looking sore. The three of us lean against the Impala, jumping when we see the ghost of Constance Welch holding a photo, glaring over at us. She moves to the side, making a dresser slide forward and pin us in place; no matter how hard we struggled it wouldn't budge.

The lights begin to flicker, water flowing down the stairs where two small children are standing. "You've come home to us, mommy," they say in unison, appearing right beside Constance and hugging her tightly. She lets out an agonized cry as she disappears in flashes of light, nothing but a puddle of water remaining. We push the dresser away, the boys walking over to where Constance disappeared.

"That's why she couldn't go home," Sam realizes," she was too scared to face her kids." Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, congradulating him. "I wish I could say the same for you; what were you thinking when you shot Casper in the face?" Dean points to me.

"Eh, it was all her idea."

"It worked didn't it, you pansy."

"You better not have screwed up my car, 'cause if you did I'll kill ya myself." I let out a small laugh, wincing at the pain that nearly overwhelms me for a second. "You alright, Liza?"

"No, but I'm calling a friend, he'll take me to Bobby's and as soon as I'm all better I'll catch up with you guys."

* * *

I stand up as Zanes cherry red Ferarri stops in front of me, Zane leaning over and opening my door. "Where to, Liz?" I take the bottle of water he hands me with shaking hands. "The usual?" Nodding, I close my eyes, sleeping the rest of the way to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

_Living easy/living free/season ticket on a one-way ride/asking nothing leave me be/__Taking everything in my stride/Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I'd rather do/Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too, yeah__/I'm on the highway to hell_


	7. Chapter Seven: Skin

I roll onto my back again, careful not to screw up the IV in my arm that keeps me from becoming dehydrated. This virus has slowly gotten worse and worse and the only thing that's keeping me from slipping is my uncle—who makes sure to keep me under constant supervision in case something goes wrong. Zane comes to visit every two or three days while Dean and Sam make sure to give me a phone call, telling me where they are. I cough again, noticing that I'm no longer coughing up blood. That's always a good sign; the nausea's gone away for the most part, and I can breathe again.

"Liz, you want anything to eat," Uncle Bobby asks, walking into the kitchen to get himself a beer.

"No," I say in a weak voice," but I would love…" I trail off, falling back to sleep. Those naps happen often and always bug me when I wake up from them a few minutes later.

* * *

I laugh as Sam tells me how Dean did on an airplane, shaking my head. "That sounds like him, alright; Jesus, humming Metallica to calm him down, then nearly shitting himself when the plane started to land?" We break into laughter again, Sam going into excruciating detail about the entire trip. "I wish I could've seen his face!" Bobby sits next to me, handing me an already opened bottle of beer. "Well, I better go...Hopefully I'll see y'all soon." I hang up, laying my head on Bobby's shoulder, enjoying the safety I feel with him. The man practically raised me after my father died.

"Sam again?" I nod, smile on my face. "At least it wasn't that other guy, I don't like him. Hell, I'm tempted just ta' shoot him and get it over with." Snorting, I take a long drink of my first beer in weeks.

"Speaking of Zane, he should be here in a few weeks to tell us all about his vacation to Hawaii." Bobby groans, resting his head on mine.

"That's perfect."

* * *

"Yeah, I'm sure," I answer Dean as Zane pulls up beside the familiar black car, a huge grin on my face. Hanging up the phone I reach over and give Zane a hug, brushing some of his dark hair out of his eyes. "Bye, Zane." He flashes one of his most charming smiles, blue eyes sparkling.

"See ya, babe." Grabbing my backpack I get out and head directly up to the house's front door, ignoring the crime scene tape, and walk in. A pretty blonde walks out of a room with the two men I've been looking for directly behind her.

"Can I help you," she asks in a strained voice.

"Um, I'm their sidekick," I smile, straightening my dark red spaghetti strap shirt. "Hey, Sammy." He gives me a smirk, hugging me. Dean rolls his eyes skyward, as if the ceiling could give him the answers he seeks—which is crazy, but hey, look who we're talkin' about. The blonde nods, looking close to tears as she looks around at the blood-splattered room. She gives me a tiny smile, holding out a hand for me to shake.

"I'm Becky, Sam's friend," she introduces herself.

"Elizabeth, the devil on Sammy Boy's shoulder." I get a small laugh out of her, but she still looks sad as hell. A dog barking outside catches Dean's and my attention as we walk over to the window to look out at it.

"That used to be the sweetest dog," Becky tells us. I give her a 'what the hell' look, one of my eyebrows raised. "He went crazy after the...the murder." Dean walks over to Sam and I follow after giving Becky's shoulder a comforting squeeze. Poor woman's brother has been arrested for a murder he probably didn't commit.

"So, you think maybe this _is _our kind of problem," Sam asks, looking a bit smug. Dean purses his lips, sending a look in my direction to see who I would agree with. The asshole doesn't think this is anything supernatural. I nod my head in Sam's direction and Dean rolls his eyes again, turning to face Becky.

"You think your lawyers could get their hands on the security footage for me?"

A guilty expression filters across Becky's face for a second, averting her eyes to the floor, saying," I've already swiped it off my lawyer's desk; I needed to see it for myself." I wrap an arm around her shoulders, leading her outside to the Impala.

"Yeah, those two morons would be in deep crap if they didn't have me along." I tell her, mischief sparkling in my hazel eyes. What, I think I have a right to be smug after spending so long near-death on bed rest. That, and it's sort of true, I am that amazing. "Now, how's about we make some popcorn and watch the tape?" She nods, looking over her shoulder to make sure the two boys were following us. Dean has a certain look in his eyes that makes me shudder and look away, a light blush forming on my cheeks. He hasn't looked at me like that in a while.

* * *

I sigh for the fifth time, shifting my position on Becky's couch; we've been watching the security footage for what seems like hours and the only criminal behavior I've seen is a neighbor not having the blinds completely closed when he decided to dance around his house necked—that sick bastard. "Here he comes," Becky's says and we can see her brother, Zack, walking up to the door.

"22:04, that's just after ten, you said time of death was about ten-thirty," Dean points out, eyes never leaving the TV.

"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert; he said the tape's authentic." Groaning, I throw an un-popped popcorn kernel at Sam, narrowly missing his head. It feels like we've been at this for far longer than we really have and I was ready to crash.

"Hey, Beck," Sam asks, turning to face his friend," can we take those beers now?" She shrugs, walking out of the room. "Maybe some sandwiches too?"

"This ain't Hooters," she smirks, walking around the corner.

"What'cha got," I ask, stretching before getting to my feet. Sam rewinds the tape and makes it go in slow motion so that we could see "Zack's" eyes flash liver for a brief second.

"Camera flare," Dean asks.

"I've never seen one like that before. You know, some cultures believe that a photograph catches a glimpse of the soul; remember the dog that went nuts after the murder? Maybe he saw that."

"You thinking Doppelganger?"

"It'd sure explain a whole helluva lot," I nod.

* * *

"Look, you're still getting your strength back, so we both think you should stay here for a while and rest."

"Dean, I've been resting for weeks now; I want to get out and kick some ass already!" Dean gives me a hard look that brooked to argument. "Sam, back me up on this! Tell Dean that I'm fine to go look at the crime scene." Sam sighs, looking down at his shoes, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's got a point, Dean, looking at a crime scene isn't exactly strenuous."

"Fine, but if something happens, _you _take care of her." He storms out to the Impala, Sam and I right behind him. Sheesh, who stuck a pole up his ass? The ride there is quiet and not a comfortable one either. Dean shoots glares at me every now and again through the rearview mirror. We pull up behind the house, Dean nursing a cup of coffee. "Why are we here so early?"

"Clues," Sam answers," the tape shows the killer coming in, but not coming out; maybe we can find a trail to follow. Dean sits on the hood of the car while Sam looks around and I steal a drink of Dean's coffee, earning another glare from said person. It's seriously too early for this Scooby-Doo shit.

"Blood," Sam says, nodding at the telephone pole," someone came this way." I hand Dean his cup back when an ambulance rushes past us, sirens blaring. All of us jump in the Impala without a word, following closely behind the ambulance to another house covered in obnoxious, yellow crime scene tape.

"What happened," Dean asks the first person we walk up to—a woman who seemed to have been jogging until she saw the cops.

"He tried to kill his wife," she says sadly," tied her up and beat her. He used to wave at me when I jogged past every morning; he seemed so nice." We head to the alley behind the house to see what we could find. Disgusting smells wafting up from the dumpsters make me run behind a car and lose what little food I could get in my stomach.

Dean places a hand on my shoulder, the other hand holding my hair out of my face. "Sam and I are going in the sewers, why don't you stay up here and go buy you some water." I straighten up, taking in a huge gulp of air as I try to ignore the smell.

"Nah, I'll go down with you." Dean gives me a doubtful look. "Boy, I swear I'll hit you upside the head if you keep giving me that look, now, get a move on!" Dean winces, rubbing the back of his head; no doubt remembering exactly how my head-smacking feels. "You guys come up with a theory?"

"We were thinking a Shape shifter." I nod, walking over to where Sam is waiting for us by a manhole cover, hands stuffed in his pockets. Even though the two of us are the same age I can't help but think of him as a younger brother—I blame those puppy-dog eyes of his. "Alright, let's get this over with." I check for my pistol, making sure in was half in the back of my pants before following the guys down below. The tunnels are dark and disgusting; grime, water, and who-knows-what covering the floor and walls. I stick close behind Dean, feeling tad uncomfortable.

"I bet the Shifter's using the tunnels to get around," Sam says, walking behind me. Dean squats down to look at something lying on the ground in front of us, poking at it with his pocket knife.

"You're probably right, I mean, look at this." I notice what looks like an ear in the mess of goo, closing my eyes for a moment and focusing on not getting sick again. Stupid, fucking stomach.

"What if it sheds kind of like a snake when it changes people," I suggest, looking around in case the Shifter pops up outta nowhere like monsters like to do. "It makes sense doesn't it?" The guys nod, standing up and looking around. Sam holds out a hand to help me up again and we head back through the tunnels and up to the Impala. Dean unlocks the trunk, lifting up the fake bottom and propping it open with his sawed-off shotgun; inside is a small arsenal that would make Chuck Norris grin with pride.

"One thing I learned from dad was that a silver bullet to the heart will kill almost everything," Dean smirks, getting a clip ready. Sam's cell rings and he walks off to talk while Dean and I ready our guns, exchanging our clips for the ones with silver bullets in it; I grab a large-ish knife and hook it to the belt of my worn blue jeans, feeling more in control with both it and the Walter P22—my pride and joy no matter what Dean or John says about it. Dean and I walk over to a slightly depressed looking Sam, realizing by from what we overheard that Becky was pissed and knew something wasn't right.

"I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I was talking about," Dean tells him softly but firmly. "You lie to your friends because if they knew who you really were they'd probably freak out and check you into a psyche ward." I pull Sam in for a hug.

"Dean's right, Sammy, it's easier not to have friends that aren't in our profession...even when they are it's best not to be close to them." Sam gives me a look when I let go. "Hey," I say, holding my hands up," you two jackasses make that difficult in all aspects, especially you with those eyes hardly anyone can say no to." This gets the smile I was looking for, Sam taking the pistol Dean offers to him. We head down into the sewer again, each of us manning a flashlight so we don't trip or run into something. The light reflects off the water on the floor, rats scattering every now and then. I tighten my grip on my pistol, looking around me at my filthy surroundings. The bad part of the tunnels is that they're narrow and if we're attacked we don't have the greatest chance of winning.

"We're close to its lair," Dean says, his voice echoing slightly. I follow his gaze and see the same ooze from before on a pipe next to Sam's head.

"How do you know," Sam asks, oblivious.

"Simon says, turn your head to the right," I smile, laughing when his face contorts into an expression of disgust. "God, I'm pretty sure even Freddy Krueger couldn't live like this and his like the King of Gore." Sam sighs, looking over at Dean and I, his brown eyes going wide with shock and a bit of fear.

"Guys!" We turn to find an Asian guy standing behind us, eyes flashing silver. It backhands Dean, knocking him against the pipe and to the ground before tucking tail and running down the tunnel, Sam and I unable to get a good shot at him with our guns. Sam and I help Dean up, noticing the way he was gripping his shoulder in pain.

"Get the son of a bitch," he growls, gesturing in the direction the Shifter had taken. Sam and I sprint down the tunnel, careful not to slip and fall.

"He's goin' up through that manhole up ahead," I shout, a few feet behind Sam. By the time we're out of the tunnels the Shifter has vanished in the small park. I let out a growl of frustration, teeth clenched together to keep from shouting out obscenities in case there was a kid around. Dean lets out a pained grunt, hauling himself above ground; he's still favoring his left shoulder. We decide to split up, planning to meet each other at the other side of the park. I make sure to keep my weapons hidden—not wanting to raise alarm and have the cops called on me; bail money was something we couldn't afford at the moment. When we meet back up I can easily guess that the guys had as much luck as I did.

Sam and I don't notice Dean's green eyes flashing silver as a van's headlights wash over him.


	8. Chapter Eight

**I'll be posting series of one-shots later with fluffy, and every now and again smutty, moments involving Dean and Elizabeth.**

As we approach the car I notice Dean's no longer favoring his shoulder, but walking as if he was never hurt to begin with. Shaking my head, I pull the coat he'd let me borrow closer to me, my own leather jacket back at the motel. I sigh contentedly, breathing in Dean's unique sent of musk, sweat, and leather—don't ask me why, but I liked it. "Think he found another way underground," Sam asks, looking over his shoulder at us.

"Most likely," Dean nods. "You got the keys?" Sam pauses, leaving the car keys in his pocket, turning to face Dean and I with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Didn't dad face a Shifter in San Antonio?" My eyebrows knit together in confusion; Sammy basically had all the cases he's been on memorized and the fact that he was asking Dean about it was weird.

I look over at Dean again as he answers," No, it was a thought form in Austin." Sam nods, seeming to remember, throwing the keys to Dean—who unlocks the trunk and looks into the arsenal. I chew on my bottom lip, slowly catching on to Sammy's plan. Dean can barely remember what he had for breakfast this morning, but to remember a case he wasn't even a part of was a weird in and of itself. I slide my gun out and point at the back of Dean's head at the same time Sam does.

"Don't move," Sam shouts with a glare," where is he?!" Dean straightens up, holding up his hand in a gesture to show he meant no harm. "What did you do to my brother?"

"Chill out, it's me and you know it." He sends a quick glance my way, a pleading look in his eyes—the eyes I've grown so familiar with over the years. Hell, I've known them both since I was six. "You're about to shoot your brother. Liza, tell him to calm down."

"When we left your shoulder was hurt."

"Yeah, what, am I supposed to cry over some stupid injury?" Sam doesn't waver and I move in closer, feeling unsure if Sam and I are just being paranoid. Dean doesn't usually make too big of a deal about being hurt, but he usually tried to milk a little attention when he knew I could fix him up. His jaw clenches as he takes a step towards us, arms outstretched. "If your both so sure, then why not shoot me?" I waver slightly, gun lowered an inch. Before I could blink, Dean had Sam unconcious and was pinning me to the ground, straddling my stomach with one hand over my mouth to keep me from yelling and the other pinning both my hands above my head. "You should've taken that shot, sweetheart."

And then I'm lost in unconsciousness...

* * *

When I come to I find myself tied to a metal pole back in the sewers, shivering because I no longer had Dean's jacket for warmth. No, it wasn't Dean, it was that _thing_. The Shifter barely spares me a glance as he finishes tying my feet together, a cloth tied over my mouth keeping me from making too much noise. "Where are he," I hear Sam ask after what sounded like a painful hit. I turn my head to the right and find Sam in the same position I'm in except he didn't have a cloth over his mouth.

"I wouldn't worry about him," fake Dean says, gathering a few things. "I'd worry about yourself...and maybe Elizabeth." I begin to struggle against the ropes, all my weapons taken from me. He gives me a dark smirk before facing Sam again. "I swear, the more I learn about you and your family...I thought I came from a bad background."

"What do you mean?" My hazel eyes focus on him, one of them beginning to swell shut from the punch he'd delivered. He presses a hand to his head, looking pained for a minute before letting out a grunt and composing himself.

"He's got issues with you," the Shifter tells Sam," you got to do things he didn't even have time to think about. And you!" He turns to face me now, kneeling next to me so that we're eye to eye. "Oh, he was _furious _when you left." One of its fingers traces my jawline. "After you left I kept remembering your senior prom and I thought that once you were back that I would be able to forget it while you were actually with me, but those memories got stronger, Liza." He backhands me, standing again and walking over to a table. "I still know eventually everyone is going to leave me; you left, Elizabeth left, and dad left after I did whatever I could to make him happy." He picks up a tarp and heads over to Sam again. "But this life has perks, I meet new people—kinda like your little friend, he'd bang her if he could. Just like he would Liza, in fact, that was all he could think about when she showed up in that spaghetti strap shirt." He smirks, throwing the tarp over Sam and walking over to me.

"Get away from her," Sam yells, struggling. I watch as the Shifter crouches next to me again, taking the gag out of my mouth and brings his lips inches away from mine.

"God, some of the memories he has of you, Elizabeth, they're...well, they certainly kept him entertained when he was lonely, sweetheart; it's too bad I have to kill you though, then you could keep me entertained as well."

"Go die in a ditch," I yell, wishing that the rope around my neck would vanish so I could at least manage a head butt or _something _for crying out loud! "And when you do I hope it's slow and agonizing." His fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing until I'm gasping for air and seeing black spots in my vision.

"When I'm done with Becky, you're next and I promise I'll take it slower than I did with the others." He straightens up after putting the gag in my mouth again and storms off. I let out a sigh, working the ropes keeping my hands tied against the rough pole-like thing I'm tied to, hoping I'm doing some damage.

"Sammy," I hear what sounds like Dean call out uncertainly," I hope that's you and Liza and not that freak." So that's where he is, somewhere behind us. "Are y'all alright, not too many bumps and bruises?" I let out a curse that the cloth muffles, sounding surprisingly like my Uncle Bobby when he gets extremely pissed off. As the guys continue to try and break free of their ropes they discuss what the Shifter had said; Dean was unconscious through most of it. Thankfully, Sammy skips over what it said about me for the most part, finding that it would be awkward to talk about. "What do you mean it downloaded my memories?"

"Well, it knew things, Dean, things only _you _could know," Sam explains.

"Like a Vulcan mind-meld?" I snort at Dean's way of thinking, working on spitting out this stupid gag.

"Something like that. Maybe that's why he doesn't kill us because he needs to keep us alive 'cause if he doesn't the connection he has with you would be lost entirely." I grumble, continuing to have my own little conversation that neither of them could hear nor understand. Eventually I get the gag loose.

"Hallelujah," I shout with pride, taking in a lungful of air. Sam looks over at me with a raised eyebrow, finally free from the ropes. Dean cuts the ones that are holding me in place, helping me to my feet. "Anyway, my theory is that if your still alive," with these words I poke Dean in the chest," then he can keep looking like you, but if you're a door nail maybe he'll just morph back into whatever he originally looked like." Dean nods, following Sam through the tunnels as we try to find a way out so that we can save Becky's ass.

"Hey, he, uh, he didn't do anything too bad to you did he," Dean asks me quietly, tucking a strand of my shoulder-length hair behind my ear and inspecting a bruise. "I mean, he didn't try to-"

"No," I answer shortly, looking ahead of us. "He didn't try what you're thinking." Dean lets out a sigh of relief, taking my hand in his larger one and leading me down the tunnel after Sam. Soon we're above ground again and able to take in fresh air.

"We need to call the police," Sam says, thinking about his friend.

"So your plan is to put an APB out on Dean? Wouldn't that most likely backfire on us, Sammy?" Sam shrugs, running after Dean and me. We stop in front of a TV store, watching the news as it shows a sketch of Dean. "Man, they need a better sketch artist," I quip, hands on my hips. The guys look down at me and I shrug, looping my arms through theirs and beginning to walk again.

"We gotta take that thing down."

"How, we don't have shit," Sam and I point out in unison. Dean stops and turns to face us, anxious expression on his face.

"Well, he's running around with my face on, I find that weird and disturbing!"

"Whatever you plan on doing we need weapons, look, we know he fled on foot—probably back to the sewer—so the car might be at Rebecca's," Sam says, always the sensible one of the three of us. Dean shudders as we walk away, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders.

"The thought of him driving my car...it's killing me!" Ah, the relationship of man and car...the poor Impala, the Shifter had better not have hurt the poor baby!

* * *

We run down the alley, looking around the corner to find the Impala parked under a street light. I let out a relieved laugh, glad that the car was in one piece and not completely totaled like I'd suspected it was. "Finally," Dean smiles," something went right tonight." Right after he says this a police car stops in front of the Impala and another is sitting at the end of the alley we just came from.

"Fuck," I growl, running after Dean towards a wooden fence.

"You two go, I'll hold 'em off," Sam commands, looking over his shoulder.

"Are you nuts, those assholes will catch you!?" He gives me a stern look—much like the ones Dean gives me at times that mean 'shut up and do what I say; no if's, and's, or but's. "Sammy—"He holds up a hand, pointing towards the fence.

"They can't hold me anyway and Dean's wanted for attempted murder, get your asses in gear." As Dean and I make it to the top of the fence Sam yells after us," And stay out of the sewers!" Dean and I find a safe hiding space for the night, waiting until morning before we head back down to the sewers to check out the lair and maybe bag us a Shifter. I lay my head on his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Is what the Shifter told me true; that you loved me in that spaghetti strap?" He gives me his signature smirk, leaning down to kiss the very tip of my nose...and then my eyelids...and then, finally, my lips. The kiss is long, but neither of us tries anything, just needing the comfort it offers. When we break apart, he pulls me closer to him to stop my shivering.

"Yeah, you looked pretty nice in that shirt," he admits, arms wrapped around me. "But I still liked that prom dress better, especially when you let me take it off." I laugh, remembering that night fondly. It wasn't romantic by any means, but it was seared into my memory and there was no way I'd forget it any time soon. "Get some sleep, Liza; tomorrow's going to be a long day." I nod, lying my head against his chest and falling asleep feeling safe for the first time since I left Bobby's house.

**The Next Morning**

I pull a fresh clip full of silver bullets out of the trunk, stuffing them in my back pocket in case I run out. We'd decided that no matter what Sam says we needed to find out as much as we can about this Shifter, and if that means hunting around in the sewers and possibly killing it there, then so be it. Dean hands me a flashlight and we start for the nearest manhole, eager to end this nightmare once and for all.

It was easy to find the lair again, all we had to do was follow the trail of Shifter goo; it lead us to a large room with weapons, candles, and knickknacks covering every square inch of the place. I stay near the desk to look at some of the stuff while Dean walks over to a tarp. His next words make me freeze, dropping the watch I had picked up. "Becca?" Why the hell is she here?! I turn, finding a scared and tied up Becky sitting where the tarp had been—her gaze flicking fearfully between Dean and I. "Son of a bitch." We both knew the moment Sam was released that Becky would be the first person he wanted to check on!

"If you're here, then who's Sammy going to be seeing?" Dean and I look at each other, knowing who's house we had to go to first. I bend down, helping Dean to untie the traumatized woman. "What happened?"

"I was walking down the street when I blacked out, and then I woke up here," she sobs," it turned into me, that's not possible." We help her to stand and go as fast as we can to save Sam from certain death.

* * *

We walk into Becky's house in time to see the Shifter on top of Sammy with his hands around his throat. One of my hands goes to my own throat where I had blue-black finger shaped bruises from where he had tried to choke me, remembering that experience a little too well for my liking. "What, you couldn't get it up for me so you're goin' after Sammy now," I mock loudly—getting the Shifter's attention in time for Dean to shoot it through the black hole it calls a heart. It had stood up when the bullet hit it and stumbled backwards, landing on a small desk against the wall. Becky and I run over to Sam and help him up off the ground. "Boy, you are lucky that Dean and I disobeyed your order or you'd be fish food by now." He scoffs, wiping some blood of his face.

**Later**

Dean and I were staring down at a map, deciding where to go now and the best route to take when Rebecca and Sam walk outside having a short chat that ended in them hugging. She waves at Dean and I before heading back inside; Sam walks over to us. "What's gonna happen to your friend Zack," Dean asks, looking curious, opening the driver's side door to the Impala.

"They're blaming it all on this Dean Winchester guy for Emily's murder; they found the murder weapon in the guy's lair, Zack's clothes stained with blood. Zack should be released soon.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Dean apologizes randomly, glancing over at Sam. "That I couldn't just leave you outta this and let you go be Joe College." Sam shrugs, smiling over at his brother. "And I'm sorry to you too, Liza; you should've been able to spend time with your niece." I lean forward and wrap my arms around his neck, placing a light kiss on the top of his head.

"You know," Sam starts," no matter how much I tried I still never really fit in there, and I'm sure Elizabeth can understand where I'm coming from."

"Oh yeah, my neighbor has this Chihuahua and it likes to yip a lot at night, so for the first month I was there I would wake up around midnight or two O'clock and threaten the mutt with silver bullets."

_Now baby maybe, maybe she's in need of a kiss/I said, "A-hey, what's your name, baby?/Maybe we can see things the same/Now don't you wait or hesitate/Let's move before they raise the parking rate"/All right now baby, it's all right now/All right now baby, it's all right now_


	9. Chapter Nine: Haunted Heartland

I let out a long sigh, head resting against Dean's shoulder. We are on our way to my aunt's house in Davenport Oklahoma where she believes something supernatural is going on in her home; we're trying to get there even faster than usual because she has two kids living with her for the next two weeks. "Are you sure we're going the right way," Dean asks for the thousandth time today.

"Just let me drive," I whine, giving him my best puppy-dog look, though it was no match for the one Sammy has. "Puh-wease, Dean." He pulls into a Wal-Mart parking lot and gets out.

"You get so much as a scratch on my baby and I'll personally kill your ass." I smirk, sliding into the driver's side while he climbs into the back, sitting ramrod straight. This was gonna be fun! I speed off, heading towards Chandler with renewed vigor.

* * *

Seven miles and ten arguments later, I pull into Davenport, stopping at the small convenience store to buy some snacks and a twelve pack of Mountain Dew; if I was going to deal with my aunt and uncle I would definitely need it along with some alcohol. Oh God, please let this be a quick, in and out type of job! As I get back in the car I quickly give Sam some cash and send him back in for a pack of cigarettes.

"Since when do you smoke," he asks, throwing me the pack and holding onto his door slightly as I speed the last few blocks to my aunt's small house.

"Since I have to deal with Anne and her husband, Fred," I answer, putting the Impala in park and staring at the house for a few minutes, dreading the moment when I would have to get out. My aunt's house was at the bottom of two hills, a bit back from the road with trees lining two sides of her spacious yard. It could use some TLC but was an otherwise cheering looking place complete with a child's slide out front.

"The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can leave," Dean points out, leaning on the back of the front seat. I groan, banging my head against the steering wheel for a moment before reluctantly getting out of the car and stuffing my cigarettes in my jacket pocket. Dean may think he's right, but he's never met my aunt and uncle before. He takes my hand and I lead the way to the front porch counting all seven steps it takes just to get to the actual porch before knocking on the door. I wanted to the two supposed-to-be adults time to hide their pot before they invited me in.

"It's open," a female voice calls from inside. I open the door and walk inside the room, instantly getting a creepy feel from the place like I used to when I was a kid. "Lizzie!" My aunt pulls me into a bear hug, reeking of cheap cigarettes and Dr. Pepper. Yep, nothin's changed.

"Hey, aunty Em," I smile, using the nickname I gave her when I was in dippers and couldn't say Anne. "Where's uncle Fred and the monsters?"

"Backyard, he's workin' on one of the cars and they wanted to help him." She notices Dean and Sam then, her face changing from happy to suspicious in 0.5 seconds. "And who are your friends?"

"They're Sam and Dean Winchester; part of the uh...family thing, too." She nods, arms crossed over her chest and her baby blue eyes never changing back to happy again. "I like what you did to your hair," I say in a weak attempt to change the subject. The thin blonde hair was put up in a clip and it and her Taco Mayo shirt meant she'd recently gotten off work. Just then my uncle and two eight-year-old boys come into the house, covered in grease. My uncle looked pretty happy until he caught sight of the guys.

"Who the hell are you and why are you holding my niece's hand?" Oh boy, this was gonna be a long job...

**Yay, I actually updated! Sorry for the long delay, but I had to help mom watch the news and keep an eye out for tornados. Yes, I am a certified small-town Okie, but my itty bitty town hadn't been hit, thank God. Review and tell me how it is.**


	10. Chapter Ten

Once I convinced my uncle that Sam and Dean weren't crazed murderers that had kidnapped me things went pretty smoothly, though the glares at Dean never stopped. Martin and Christopher, the eight-year-old twins, stayed near me, having not seen me for three years since they'd moved to Kansas with their mom. "Want us to show you where the stuff happened," Christopher asks, tugging excitedly on one of my hands while Martin tugs on the other.

"Alright, tour away." They drag me down the dark hallway and to one of the back bedrooms—it was my room when I stayed here as a kid. Martin points to the closet. In the top of the closet was a plain board, and if you removed that you could get in the attic.

"We hear heavy footsteps up there and it sounds like a kid's running up and down the hallway," Martin starts.

"You can hear keys jingling in here and you can see a guy's shadow cross in front of the living room window when you're in the front yard," Christopher finishes—both boys look scared, though they were trying to hide it. I pull them into a hug, looking around the room with hate written clearly across my face. Living or dead, only pieces of shit take pleasure in scaring defenseless children.

"I'm gonna take care of this, kiddos, don't worry." Martin nods, looking up at me with a smile. "And after it's all over, I'll play some tether ball with y'all. Right now, though, I've gotta get some research done and find out what's ass I'm gonna kick." The twins laugh at that, going into the room across the hall to play whatever game they could come up with. I walk back into the living room, informing the others of what the boys just told me and beginning my research.

**Twelve Hours Later**

I shut my computer, rubbing my eyes and fighting a migraine. "I've got zilch," I tell them, taking a long drag from my cigarette and exhaling slowly.

Sam shakes his head, chewing on his thumbnail and hands his laptop to Dean to do some digging. "It makes no sense, nothing that could cause even the smallest bit of the activity that has happened here," he agrees, feeling just as frustrated as I did. "You guys got any beer?" My uncle points to the kitchen without looking away from the TV; what can I say, he loves his wrestling. "Liza, you want one?" I give him a look and he nods, walking into the kitchen and coming back a few minutes later with three beers and a confused expression on his face.

"Oh Lord, what now?"

"Um, I think I just saw our residential spook." I stand up, taking my beer and looking in the kitchen, seeing a tall man in a black suite standing at the back door with a murderous glare on his ashen face. Blinking a couple of times, I calmly turn around and walk into the living room again.

"New adjustment, you four need to get a room at the motel in Chandler while we do our thing because that guy is either extremely pissed and out for blood or stepped on a Lego." My aunt, uncle, and the two boys immediately get up and leave with no questions asked. "Well, that was certainly easier than I thought it would be." Dean raises an eyebrow, staring into the kitchen with his sawed-off shotgun in hand.

"Why don't you two take a look around and I'll keep Casper busy," he suggests, taking my cigarette and gesturing for me to get a move on. I get a smug grin on my face, pulling Sam down the hallway with me.

"I think I know the perfect place to start." We open the door to the back room, a cold gust hitting us and nearly knocking my breath from me. "My, my, guess who's getting the cookie today." I lead him to the closet, pointing to the board. Sam grabs a hammer from my uncle's tool chest and pries the nails out, letting the board drop to the floor. Before we could do anything, I'm suddenly flying backwards onto a desk and bouncing onto the floor. Wincing, I look around me, spotting the spirit holding Sam against the closet wall with one hand. I get to my feet and call for Dean to bring some salt. The ghost half turns to face me, flicking his wrist and sending through the hole in the ceiling up to the attic.

Gasping, I get to my feet and take my lighter out of my pocket, using it as a light to see by. The small space was cluttered with old things like pictures, a rocking chair, and even a giant teddy bear like you'd see at a carnival. I move forwards a little, tripping and making a few boxes fall over. What was behind them makes me grimace—a decaying coffin with a decaying body. "Liza," Dean shouts," you okay up there?" I crawl over to the hole, and lean down, snatching the salt from him and hurrying back over to the coffin, pushing it through a dust-covered window into the backyard. I jump out after it and as soon as I hit the ground, the spirit has my flying again; this time closer to the remains. I pull the cap off the container and salt the bones as quickly as I could before the ghost backhanded me, knocking my lighter out of my hands.

Sam climbs out of the bedroom window, running towards me. I point towards the body, unable to talk until my breath comes back. Soon I'll be able to hold my breath for over two minutes, I think to myself in a second of triumph. The ghost lets out an agonized shriek, going up in flames. "You okay," Sam asks breathlessly, helping me to my feet. I nod, looking around and spotting Dean stumbling out of the house with blood pouring from a head wound.

"Can I have the rest of my beer now," I ask as the three of us sit on the back porch.

_Can you help me remember how to smile/make it somehow all seem worthwhile/how on earth did I get so jaded/life's mysteries seem so faded/I can go where no one else can go/I know what no one else knows/here I am just drownin' in the rain/with a ticket for a runaway train_


	11. Chapter Eleven: Hook Man

Dean and I sit at a table outside a café, him looking for a case on Sam's laptop and me talking to my niece on the phone; Sam was at a payphone asking around about John. "Lilly," I scold," be nice to your cousin 'cause he'll be bigger than you before you know it." The four-year-old has been a brat for the past two hours so her foster mom, Tanya, had called me to see if I could make her behave somehow. "Besides, if you keep being mean the next time I come to visit I won't take you out for ice cream." That threat has the desired effect I was looking for, Lilly immediately beginning to apologize. "Alright, well, Aunt Sissy has to go; I love you, munchkin."

"Love you, Sissy!" I press end call and lay my phone down on the table, still smiling at my niece's behavior. She was too much like me for her own good sometimes and it would drive Tanya and Darren crazy one of these days.

"So, how's the little one," Dean asks, taking a drink of his coffee.

"She's...Lilly."

I look back down at my phone, contemplating on whether or not to call Zane and check on him when Dean yells over to Sam," You half-caf Double Vanilla Latte is getting cold over here, Francis!" Sam sits in the chair across from me with a sour look on his face. "I take it you got nothing?"

"I told them to check everything I could think of; even made them run dad's plates for violations." Sighing, I rest my forehead on my arms, shielding my face from the sun and looking down at my boots. "Dad just doesn't want to be found." I wince from the pain in my lower stomach and back, making sure not to raise my head and draw attention to myself. Dean shakes my shoulder. "Check this out." I grunt that I'm listening, getting weaker and more irritable by the second. "A news item out of the _Plains Courier _in Ankeny Iowa, only about a hundred miles from here."

"Mutilated body was found near the victim's car, parked on nine-mile road," Sam reads aloud, sounding more than a little disinterested. "Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer; the soul eyewitness is quoted as saying 'the killer was invisible.'"

"Could be something interesting."

"Or the witness could be in shock and trying to block it all out," I point out in a grouchy tone, taking a drink of my coffee. "There's no way you can be absolutely positive that the so-called _witness _wasn't even involved in the whole thing." Dean scowls, shaking his head at me.

"But what if it's the real-deal, you know, our department?" I purse my lips, thinking on that for a moment. "Huh, you gonna take that bet or you gonna wuss out on me, Liza?"

"If you're right I'll...do _one thing _that you wanna do without complaints." Dean smirks, obviously thinking dirty. Hell, he usually thinks dirty and when he isn't he'll be dead. "If _I _win, then you have to take me shopping," I say, confident that I was right. Shopping with me isn't too bad; I spend most of my time in Hot Topic anyway.

"Sounds like a deal." We shake hands, binding the contract. "Remember, there's no backing out now." His eyebrows scrunch together, looking me over. "You okay, you're lookin' a little pale?"

"I'm fine," I answer, taking another drink of coffee and wishing it was something a lot stronger.

* * *

I lay in the backseat of the Impala, munching on some Doritos as Dean drives and Sam sits brooding in the passenger's seat as normal. When the Impala comes to a stop I sit up, noticing we were outside of a frat house...Great. I sigh, opening my door and getting out, making sure to stay close to the guys. "One more time," Sam asks," why are we here?" My question exactly, Sammy.

"Victim lived here." Dean leads us over to three guys working on a car and I roll my eyes as I catch one of them sending a smirk in my direction. "Nice wheels," Dean smiles. "We're your fraternity brothers from Ohio and this is my girlfriend." He pulls me up to the front between him and Sam, one arm wrapped possessively around my waist. "We're new in town, transfers, lookin' for a place to stay." The three guys smirk at each other and I know we're gonna get the room with the weird guy.

"Go on up the stairs inside and look for the door that has a Purple Man poster on it."

"Thanks." Sam, Dean and I head up the stairs once we get inside, doing as we were instructed.

"So, how weird do you think this guy's gonna be," I ask in a hushed voice. Sam shakes his head with a smile on his face at my question. "Come on, do you actually think those douches are gonna give you a room without someone that wouldn't make you want to pull out your hair?" As I finish talking, we reach our destination and I get an eyeful of a skinny college kid painting the top half of his body a dark purple. "Oh..." I'm unable to say anything else, my jaw resting on the floor. This was worse than I thought, and believe me, my thoughts are pretty warped.

"Who are you," he asks, ignoring the obvious look of shock on my face. Sam notices and uses his index finger to close my mouth, patting my shoulder gently.

Dean clears his throat, hiding most of his discomfort a lot better than I was. "We're your new roommates," he says with a slight smile, walking into the room. Why the hell would you paint yourself purple? Kids these days are getting dumber and dumber by the generation!

"Do me a favor and get my back; big game today." Sam and I look at each other before looking at the guy again, feeling more uncomfortable than I thought possible. Spirits and monsters I get, but it's the supposedly normal people that can shock ya.

Dean points to Sam and me over his shoulder saying," They're the artists." I glare at him before taking the bucket of purple paint and letting Sammy have the honor of painting the college idjit. Dean settles down into a chair, flipping through a random magazine that was lying next to it on the floor. "So, Murph, is it true?"

"What do you mean?"

"We heard one of the guys from here got killed last week." Murph gets a sad look on his face, nodding his head.

"Yeah…" It's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it, but to get answers we have to get a bit pushy sometimes.

"What exactly happened to him," I ask, holding up the bucket for Sam.

"They're saying some psycho with a knife, maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy." Have you ever noticed that when someone dies, even if they were a complete douche, at least one person says they were a good guy or girl?

"We also heard he was with somebody," Sam adds, looking up at Murph from his painting.

"Not just somebody," Murph says, getting his happiness back in a second," Lori Sorenson." Uh, is she the campus whore or something? I couldn't think of any other reason she'd be so well-known unless she was the complete opposite of a whore.

"And who's Lori," Dean asks, then turns his attention to Sam. "By the way, you missed a spot on the lower back." Sam gives him a glare that could rival even the one I was giving. I grab the paint brush and sling some paint at Dean, satisfied when I nail him in the face with it. Yeah, that's what the asshole deserves; you don't give Sam and I paint duty without expecting a little payback in return. The look on Dean's face is priceless, making me wish I had a camera.

"She's a freshman—a local and super hot. And get this: she's a reverend's daughter." Dean leans forward in his seat.

"You wouldn't happen to know which church, would ya?"

**I have links in my profile for this story so you'll know what Elizabeth and her stuff looks like and I publish some of the one shots under the name May it Be.**


	12. Chapter Twelve

"Do I have to go," I whine, not really wanting to sit through church on one of those uncomfortable as hell pews—especially not the next three days.

"What's wrong with you," Dean asks in a low voice so Sam won't overhear us from the bathroom. "You've been bitchy the last two days and when you weren't bitching you looked like you were in some serious…pain." It dawns on him then and I'm sure he feels like the dumbest man alive. "Oh God, it's _that _time isn't it?" I nod slowly, downing a couple of Tylenol with some water. "Right…why don't you just lay here while Sammy and I check out Lori and we'll call ya when that's done."

"Great, sounds like a plan." I curl up in the bed Dean and I were sharing, hugging my teddy bear close to me. Yes, I slept with my teddy bear when I didn't feel good—sue me. Sam walks out of the bathroom, dressed and still trying to dry his hair. He takes one look at my teddy bear and nods slowly.

"Lady thing, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean snaps, "let's get a move on and let her take a nap." As the boys walk out, I grab the remote and decide to see what's on TV at this time of day.

**Two Hours Later**

"Bridgett, you know he's just gonna run off with your maid again," I shout at the TV screen as if the characters in the soap opera could actually hear me. "Why would she even consider getting married now when her half-brother was just in a damn plane crash?" The cleaning lady sitting next to me shrugs her shoulders.

"Who cares, poor Enrique was just poisoned by his ex-wife and now their daughter is gonna go to a foster home." I nod, passing her another tissue and a chocolate bar. "And let's not forget Enrique's mistress and current wife are hooking up again."

"Good lord, that woman needs to keep it in her pants." As Trisha and I begin another round of tears, Dean and Sam walk in, their conversation stopping the moment they see Trisha. "Oh, guys, this is Trisha; Trisha they're Sam and Dean." Trisha smiles at them, sniffling a little. "We're just watching this show; you can join us if you want."

"Um, actually we were goin' to the library and thought you'd like to go with us," Dean says, sending Trisha suspicious glances every few seconds. News flash, Dean, not everybody's out to get you.

"Alright, I'll see ya later, Trisha." She waves good-bye, grabs her cleaning gear and walks out to go tend to the room next door.

"Why was the maid sitting in bed with you?"

"I told you, we were watching this show." Sam shakes his head in amusement as my explanation was one of the funniest things in the world. "What, shit happens?"

* * *

I sigh from the backseat, rubbing my lower back and taking some more Tylenol. This sucks, I feel like road kill. "You alright back there," Sam asks, looking at me from over his shoulder. I give him a wry smile.

"Never better, Sammy boy."

"Dude, just leave her alone," Dean snaps from the driver's seat, smacking his brother's shoulder. "You know she feels like shit and you're not making it any better." I raise an eyebrow, smacking the back of Dean's head. "What was that for?"

"For bein' a dick to Sam, that's what!" I wrap one arm around Sam's neck, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Piss me off and suffer my reign of terror." Sam chuckles, patting my arm. "Now, I am going to listen to my music and you guys tell me when we get to where we're goin'." Dean parks the Impala and turns to face me after cutting the ignition.

"Hey, Cinderella, we're here."

Fuck me," I groan, dropping my head against the back of the front seat.

* * *

"So you believe her, "Dean asks Sam while we walk through the town's small library, talking about what Lori told them earlier. I look at Sasquatch over my shoulder, head cocked to the right slightly.

"I do," Sam nods.

"I think she's hot too." I smack Dean's shoulder with a laugh, earning his signature smirk. "You would've thought so too."

Snorting, I shake my head. "God, I slept with a girl _once_, and I was drunk so it doesn't count."

"Oh, I'd say it definitely counted—it made the top five lays nights of my life." I groan, leaning me head against his shoulder as we continue down the aisle.

"Would you two knock it off," Sam grimaces," there are some things I just don't need to hear. Besides, listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof and found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car." I purse my lips, recognizing those facts instantly; the only thing missing was for someone to find a shiny hook hanging from the driver's side door handle.

"Are we thinkin' Hook Man," I ask," like, _the Hook Man_?"

Sam shrugs," Every legend has at least a little bit of truth in it."

"Yeah, but why didn't they find the hook dangling from the door handle," I start.

"Or the tire punctures and phantom scratches," Dean finishes.

"Maybe the Hook Man isn't a man at all, what if it's some type of spirit," Sam points out. The three of us look at each other, deciding to find out if any Hook Man-like murders had happened at any other times here.

* * *

"Here you go," a librarian smiles, placing a box of records on the table in front of us," arrest records going back to 1851." She places a second box in front of me just as Dean blows some dust off the first one.

"Thanks," he coughs, smiling. "This is how you spent four good years of your life," he asks Sam, pushing the top off one of the cardboard boxes.

"Welcome to higher education." I smirk, remembering all the times Uncle Bobby and I spent researching for one of John's cases.

**LATER**

I close my tired and sore eyes, resting my head on my arms. God, what I wouldn't give for some extra strength pain killers right about now. "Hey, check this out," Sam says from behind a bookshelf. Dean helps me up from my spot on the floor and we walk over to Sam. "1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. He was so angry over the red-light district in town that he killed thirteen prostitutes. It says that some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood, others suspended from the limbs of trees as warnings against sins of the flesh." Dean pulls another piece of paper out from behind the one that Sam was reading; it had a picture of a man with a hook hand illustrated on it, no doubt it was Jacob Karns.

"Look at this, the murder weapon, the preacher lost his hand in an accident and had it replaced with a silver hook.

"Hey, wasn't our guy's murder out on Nine Mile Road," I ask. Sam nods his head, brushing some of his hair out of his face. "Well, that's where these murders took place."

"Nice job, Dr. Spengler," Dean congratulates," let's go check it out."

"C'mon, I'm more of a Venkman." The three of us head back outside to the Impala, Dean and I still arguing over who would be Venkman while Sam was perfectly fine to be Ray.

"I'm serious, though," I state as we walk into the motel room," Slimer is an adorable little ghostie and I would happily keep him around; especially if Dean was the one to be slimed all the time." Sam laughs, picking up a bottle of beer and settling back on the bed he'd claimed earlier. "Anyway, we're all in agreement that we'll check out Destination Doom later tonight when it's nice and spooky out?"

"That's the plan," Dean sighs, tossing me my own bottle of beer and settling down at the small table where Sammy's laptop sat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be doing so research." I say nothing to that, knowing that he'd probably be surfing around for a good porn sight or something. Sam and I share a look, beginning to argue over what TV show to watch-Game of Thrones or Reba.

* * *

Once we reach the place the frat boy was murdered on Nine Mile Road, the three of us quietly got out of the Impala and went to the trunk to get our weapons. Dean hands Sam a shotgun and me a flashlight; that's fine with me, I can do some major bodily harm with the flashlight...Well, unless it's a spirit that is, I just might be screwed tonight. "If it really is a spirit, then buckshot won't do much good," Sam tells Dean, checking that the shotgun was loaded.

"I know," Dean says, handing Sam two shells filled with rock salt. "It won't kill 'em, but it sure as hell slows the bastards down." He hauls a coil of rope over his shoulder and we start walking. _Heh, you and you're stupid fuckin' rope_. Oh, I need to watch Boondock Saints again.

"You and dad think of this?"

"Nope," I say sarcastically," one Easter a bunny showed up and handed 'em to us, Sammy." That earns me a scowl, but the sound of someone else walking around makes all of us freeze. I point the flashlight's beam ahead of us where the sound of a branch breaking had come from. Sam brings the shotgun up, pointing it in the direction I was pointing the flashlight. The three of us tense, waiting for some sort of attack to happen.

What we didn't expect was to have a cop run out, pointing pistols at us and telling Sam to put his gun down. "Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!" We do as he says, more shocked than anything else. "On your knees! Now on your bellies!"

"_He _had the gun," Dena grumbles. Great, now we look _really _suspicious.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I had managed to convince the cop that was questioning me that it was just a morbid curiosity that made me follow dumb and dumber to the crime scene, thankfully I'm a decent enough liar and he bought it, letting me go with just a warning. Walking towards the motel, I let a smug grin settle on my lips, happy I'd gotten out before Dean or Sammy. "I guess I'm just that good," I mumble under my breath. I wonder how long it'll take for the guys to get themselves out of trouble?

* * *

When Dean walked into the motel room, the last thing he expected to see was Elizabeth wearing only an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers, dancing and singing to some weird song. Eyes raking over her swaying form, he was glad he told Sam to wait in the car while he went to fetch their friend. What surprised him the most was the fact that she was actually a good singer. "Through missing keys and broken strings the music was our own," she sings softly, eyes still shut," until the day we said our last goodbyes the baby grand was sent away, a child all alone, to pray somebody else would realize that something secondhand and broken still can make a pretty sound." She turned to face him completely, opening her eyes and pausing mid-word when she noticed that she was no longer alone in the room.

"Wow," he said," you're...that was really somethin'." He meant it too; she had a nice voice that kind of reminded him of his mom's when she would sing him her favorite Beetles song. He could feel himself begin to blush the longer she stared at him, obviously embarrassed that she'd been caught. "Um, Sam's out in the car and we think Hook's struck again."

"Right," she nods, grabbing her duffle and running into the bathroom; coming out a few minutes later in what Dean had dubbed her FBI skirt, a black T-shirt that had _The North Remembers _in blood red letters, and a pair of green and silver Slytherin high heels. "What are we waiting for?" Dean clears his throat, taking in the legs that are usually hidden by a pair of jeans or sweats, feeling himself begin to harden uncomfortably in his jeans.

Her eyes widen when Dean crosses the space between them in two long strides, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her against him, his free hand tangling in the hair at the base of her neck as he pulls her into a deep kiss. It doesn't take Elizabeth long to respond to his passion, her arms wrapping around his neck. Dean had never kissed her like this before, it was always just lust the last few times, but this was somehow different... The pair fell onto one of the beds, Elizabeth straddling Dean's waist.

"Oh, come on!" The pair breaks apart, Elizabeth nearly falling in the floor. Sam shakes his head at his brother and best friend, feeling a little disgusted even though he knew it was bound to happen sometime; there had always been a sexual tension between Liza and Dean since junior prom. "If you two wouldn't mind finishing this up later, could we go, I don't know, work the case?"

* * *

I blush, following Sam out to the Impala and leaving Dean panting on the bed. "I'm sorry, Sam." He holds up a hand to stop me, shaking his head.

"I _really _don't want to talk about it." When Dean climbs in the driver's seat I begin to blush all over again, but not entirely from embarrassment, more so because I liked what had happened and wanted to experience it again at least once more and I hoped he felt the same way.

**I'll be writing a lot the next few days since my parent's have me either laying in bed or on the couch because of the surgery I had today. It was minor and nothing to worry about, but they're paranoid and I'm on pain meds so I'm sorry if these next few chapters come out a little...funky...****Um, if you want to see most of Elizabeth's outfit I have the links up in my profile.**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

We drive past a sorority house, spotting who Sam says is Lori Sorenson sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking relatively unharmed. "I'd say it's a safe bet that this is the place we're lookin' for," I state, taking in the police cars and the stretcher they were loading into the back of a second ambulance. "I wonder who bit the dirt." Sam shoots me his signature 'shut up' look and I fall silent with a shrug, tossing my heels onto the seat beside me. They may be cute, but my God, those things make my toes feel as though they were suffering through the Spanish Inquisition. Wow, okay, I admit that was a bad example, but my point is valid. "I'll call Zane and see if he can dig up anything."

I pull out my cell and press two, waiting for my friend to pick up. "Buddy the Elf," his happy voice says.

"The north doesn't remember you." Zane sighs, probably shaking his head because I didn't ask him his favorite color.

"What can I do ya for, 'Lizabeth?"

"The usual, I wanna know everything about the girl that was recently murdered at a sorority here in Ankeny Iowa." He lets out a low whistle, tapping away at his computer. "She was found recently, so I doubt she'd be in a database, but I'll take a look-see in her room to find out what I can, then text it to ya."

"Sounds good, baby girl; Tom wants to know what you thought of his latest song."

"Tell him that I loved it and he should send me a ticket when the play makes it to Broadway." Tom Levitt is Zane's cousin and he's a big song writer in New York; I've known him for as long as I've known Zane—going on ten years now. "I'll text ya soon, Zane." I hang up and put my cell inside one of my heels, climbing out of the now parked Impala and follow the guys to one side of the sorority house. We walk carefully so we don't attract any unwanted attention.

"Why would Hook come here," Sam wonders in a quiet whisper," I mean, this is pretty far from Nine Mile Road."

"Maybe Lori summoned him, ya know, now she's just playing the part of frightened sorority girl," I suggest with a shrug of my shoulders. Sam frowns at me, flicking my forehead—I step on his foot to return the favor and Dean turns and flicks us both without hesitation.

"Maybe it's not Nine Mile Road he's haunting," Dean suggests, sounding as though Sam and I should've already knew this. "Maybe it's about something else entirely." A couple of girls come out of the house and Dean instantly sticks his arm out to push Sam and me behind him against the house where none of us could be seen. Dean grins, watching the girl's retreating forms. "Dude, you guys think we'll see a naked pillow fight?" No one answers him, Sammy and me already using the few foot and hand holds we could find to climb up to a small balcony with Dean following directly behind us.

As I'm pulling myself up onto the balcony I can feel Dean's hand on my ass. "Seriously, you're picking now of all times to do that," I ask with a raised eyebrow and a grin. Dean gives me a shit-eating grin of his own.

"Just helping you up, Liza." _Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it_. Sam finds an unlocked window and climbs inside headfirst; I follow after him, landing hard on my belly. _That's okay, who needs air anyway_? Dean lands beside me with a loud thump that makes Sam spin around and glare.

"Be quiet," he hisses.

"Me be quiet? You be quiet."

"Both of you need to shut the hell up," I growl, looking around the storage closet we landed in. I stand behind Sam, waiting for him to enter the bedroom on the other side of the door so I move and stop Dean from breathing down my damn neck. I bring my elbow back sharply and nail him in the stomach, making him back up a couple feet. Sam ignores me and slowly opens the door, leading us inside the blood-splattered room. Well, isn't that just lovely. A strip of crime scene tape halved the room and carved into the wall on the bloody half was something I never thought I'd see.

"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light," Sam quotes, all three of us staring at the wall.

"Well, at least we know exactly what spirit we're dealing with this time," I sigh, looking down at the good-sized cross carved into the wall just under the words, a nagging voice in the back of my mind saying I should know where I've seen it before. Dean walks over to the window and looks out to check if anyone was about to enter the house, but Sam and I continue to stare at the mark.

"Dean, come here." Dean walks over to us.

"That look familiar?"

"Annoyingly so," Dean nods. I look around the room, trying to find something of the dead girl's that would help Zane in his search. Going through her nightstand, I find a picture and a post card that she was going to send to her mom, but never got the chance. So her name's Taylor Barnes and she looked like a party girl. Taylor was attractive with a mocha skin tone and dark brown eyes, leaning against some dude and holding a beer bottle. Sam nudges me, saying to wipe off where I've touched anything and meet them back at the Impala.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and I sit on the hood of the Impala, looking down at the scans Sammy had made of the papers from the library. A small charm hung from Jacob's hook, and it looked exactly like the mark carved into the wall back in the sorority house. "It's gotta be the spirit of Jacob Karns," Sam sighs, looking at the paper with the hook on it.

"So, we'll salt and burn the bastard," I shrug, rubbing my lower back. The pain was easing up and I knew that it wouldn't last much longer.

"After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in Old North cemetery in an unmarked grave," Sam reads aloud; I rest my head in my hands and let out a long, frustrated groan. We all stand up and I open the back door of the Impala, picking up the book I was reading earlier today—_Inside HBO's Game of Thrones_. Yes, I am a geek—I'll happily admit that. "Well, we know who it is, but we've yet to figure out where he'll manifest and why." Dean picks up a ticket that was stuck to his window, barely giving it a second glance before he turns to face Sam and I again.

"I'll take a wild guess and say that Liza's half-right; Lori might have something to do with this." I give Sammy a smug look, getting in the car and shutting the door behind me.

* * *

The fraternity house we were in had a party going in full swing; music blasting, people dancing, talking, or drinking. Why the hell didn't I go to college and do this as often as possible? "You've been holding out," Dean smirks at his younger brother," this college thing is _awesome_!" Sam looks uncomfortable as hell, probably skipping most of these things when he was in college.

"This wasn't really my experience," he says, hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. I smile at a passing guy who looked to be about a year older than me, biting my lower lip and winking. Damn, why did I skip all this? "Anyway, I found something you guys might deem interesting." He pulls out some papers to hand to Dean as we begin walking through the throng of people.

"1932, clergyman arrested for murder," Deans reads before going to the next page. "1967, Seminarian held for hippie rampage." We stop when we reach a mostly empty room so we could talk without too much worry of being overheard by someone.

"There's a pattern; in both cases the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality and then found himself wanted for killings he claimed by an invisible force, killing carried out with a sharp instrument." I raise an eyebrow, not seeing what Sam was so excited about or what this had to do with Lori Sorenson.

"Mind explaining a little more for me, Sammy," I ask, seeing that Dean was just as lost as I was.

"A man of religion," he says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world," who openly preached against immorality; except, maybe this time he's just trying to save his daughter and not the town." You know, now that he said it I can see why he thought it was obvious. Lori's dad was a preacher and he most likely preached against immorality while his daughter lived in a sorority house with a notorious party girl.

"You think the reverend is summoning the spirit," Dean asks.

"Yeah, or the spirit isn't haunting a specific place, but a person."

"It'd make sense—I mean, it's feeding off repressed emotion and the rev wouldn't have a clue about it," I nod.

"Why don't you keep an eye on Lori tonight and me and Liza'll try and find that grave."

**Posted a new chap for May It Be and it's an alternate scene for chap thirteen of this story and how it might've ended a bit more...differently.**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

We arrive at the cemetery, careful to watch for cops or passing vehicles; it'd be pretty hard to explain why we were in a cemetery in the middle of the night with a sawed-off shotgun, two shovels, a canister of salt, some lighter fluid, and matches. There's no way to lie about that and get off with a warning, even if I resorted to the crying routine; I can see it now: _I'm so sorry officer, I thought this was the place the rave was being held_. Yeah, that would never work.

I clutch my flashlight tightly in my hand, knuckles turning white as I continue to look around me for the grave we need. Hopefully, Hook wouldn't attack when Sammy was by himself. Twigs snapping make Dean and I pause and look more thoroughly around us for whomever—or _whatever—_caused the noise. After a few minutes of hearing nothing but crickets, we continue, but with even more caution than before. Dean taps my arm, gesturing for me to follow him down a small hill and to a grave marker that had a familiar cross on it and nothing else. "Hello, preacher man, just gonna take a small looksee," I quip, laying my flashlight on the ground to make digging easier.

Digging up a body was never easy work, in fact, it wasn't even easier said than done; the shit just plain sucks. But I do it and I know that it'll save someone's life and they'll probably never even realize it. That's just how this job works, I've long since gotten used to it. "That's it," Dean gasps a twenty minutes later," next time I get to watch the cute girl's house."

"Fine with me as long as I get to leave with the cute fraternity guy," I shrug, rubbing my sore shoulders for a second before continuing to dig. This bastard had better be in there or I'm gonna hit Dean with this fuckin' shovel!

* * *

After what feels like centuries, we hit pay-dirt and use the shovels to smash in the lid of the coffin, wincing at the smell that wafts out. The smell of dead people is something you never really get used to because it varies every time. "Hello, Jake," Dean smirks, climbing out of the hole and helping me out as well. I soak the bones in lighter fluid while Dean salts them, making sure to cover ever inch we can possibly get so that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that this guy's coming back. Dean throws a book of lit matches in with the bones and we watch it burn. "Goodbye, Jake." Once satisfied, I trudge back to the Impala and collapse in the backseat. This was one hell of a day.

Dean would wait by the grave until the bones were dust, then come get me to help fill in the grave again. I try to relax, feeling aches and pains everywhere; I'm gonna need a nice, hot bath and some Tylenol to make me feel even halfway decent. The next thing I know, Dean's interrupting my dream of Johnny Depp giving me a massage. I glare at the brave man, hatefully grabbing the mountain dew from his outstretched hand. "This had better be good, Winchester, or my boot'll meet that ass of yours."

"I got a call from Sammy; we gotta meet him at the hospital." I'm wide awake now, worried about Sammy and wondering what the hell happened to him that caused the need of a hospital. "Apparently the preacher was attacked by Hook or somethin'." Dean starts the car and tears out of the motel parking lot, leaving skid marks behind him.

"We burned that bastard though," I pout, not really wanting to do anything more than sleep right now. "It's not...but...son of a bitch..." Dean nods, giving me a sympathetic nod when he sees my face in the rear view mirror. Using my phone, I look to see how truly awful I look; tousled blond hair, smudged eyeliner, and a little drool and dirt. Well, a fast food napkin will take care of most of that and I can always run my fingers through my hair until it's somewhat tame again. "Do we have any—" a half-empty bottle of Tylenol is tossed in the backseat and I grin at Dean, popping a couple in my mouth and washing them down with my soda.

* * *

A couple police officers stop us in the hospital hallway, keeping me from running to Sammy and smacking him for making me worry. Well, that was probably a good thing because Sammy didn't need any Elizabeth-induced brain trauma. "It's all right," Dean tells them, trying to get past without using force," we're with him, he's out brother."

"Sammy," I snarl," call off the guard mutts or I will." The cop Sam was talking to nods his head and lets us come forward, meeting Sam in the middle and staying quiet until we were sure the cops weren't within earshot. "Are you okay, you stubborn jackass?" He nods, looking behind him for a moment before facing Dean and I again.

"The Hook man showed up," Sam tells us with a glare," you two were supposed to torch the bones not fool around back at the motel room!" I run a hand through my hair again, frowning slightly. I don't look like I just had sex, I look like some moron let me sleep in the backseat of a damn car.

"We did," Dean insists, covering my mouth with his hand and muffling my snarky retort. "Are you sure it was Karns?"

"I'm pretty sure no other spirit can pop up out of nowhere and impale a man on a hook; I think the spirit is latching onto Lori, last night her father said he was having an affair with a _married woman_." At Dean's so what face, Sam continues. "Believe it or not, that's immoral, and Lori was raised to believe that if you do something wrong you get punished."

"Sooo, that's pretty much Hook's calling card and now he's punishing the people she thinks deserve it even though she doesn't know she thinks what she thinks," I ramble, looking up at the guys to see if I was right.

"Exactly."

"But, those bones are beyond dust and they're so salty that not even Uncle Bobby would touch 'em, so why is he still hanging around?"

"Don't say we missed somethin' either, because we even burned the damn coffin," Dean says, beating his brother to the punch. We grow silence, trying to figure out why and how Jacob Karns is still trying to gank people.

"Did you guys get the hook?" I open and close my mouths for a few seconds, trying to remember if I even saw a hook last night, but drew a blank. "It _was _the murder weapon and it was technically part of him."

"So, like the bones, it's a source of his powers."

"And if we find the bones..." Sam prompts.

"We stop the Hook Man," the three of us finish together. _And back to the library we go._

* * *

I never thought I would grow to hate libraries, but this case is giving me a migraine and I can't wait for it to be over and behind us. Yawning, I turn the page of the book in front of me and stare at it blankly; I need caffeine or I'll go insane and make Hook look like a damn saint. I shake my head, blinking a couple of times and deciding that these contacts weren't working. _I'll have Uncle Bobby set me up an eye appointment later so I can get some glasses and not the hipster glasses either. I don't wanna look like Urkel_! "I think I finally found something," Dean says after taking a pen cap out of his mouth.

Sam and I look over at him hopefully. "This better be a good something," I mutter to myself, head beginning to throb.

"It's the logbook for Iowa State Penitentiary; Karns, Jacob—personal affects, disposition thereof." I roll my eyes, letting my head fall onto my arms.

"Does it even mention what we're trying to find," Sammy asks, patting my shoulder. Dean scowls at his brother, holding up a hand to shut him up and saying," Upon execution, all earthly objects will be remanded to the prisoner's place of worship: St. Barnabus church."

"That's where Sammy's crush lives, ain't it," I ask without looking up," and where the hospitalized preacher did his thing?"

"Maybe that's why the spirit's been haunting reverends and reverend's daughters for the past two hundred years." I turn my face so I can see the two men, eyes half-closed and missing the energy I usually have.

"Wouldn't someone have seen the hook if were there," Sam points out," I mean, with all the blood that would be covering it and all that." I purse my lips, brows furrowed as I try to think where a hook could be kept in a church well out of sight so as not to alarm anyone.

"I'll check the church records." Groaning, I close my eyes and pout while another large book is placed in front of me.

A couple hours later, Sammy finds something of interest, reading it aloud for us to hear. "St, Barnabus, donations, 1862; received: silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged." I face palm again. This is going to make our search that much more difficult.

"We are so fucked," I state dully, slamming my book shut and laying it on the table in front of me. "We are beyond just plain fucked, we're jungle fucked."

"God, I told you not to let her watch Boondock Saints last night," Dean scolds Sam," now she's gonna be quoting it for the next month and a half." I cross my arms over my chest with my head held up high. He's just jealous 'cause he can't quote movies like me; I'd make Tony DiNozzo proud if he were a real person and not a fictional character.

**Later**

We pull up in front of the church, the Impala's engine idling. I rest my arms on the front seat, looking between the guys at the larch church and house combo. The three of us share a look, Dean cutting the engine and all of us stepping out into the cool air. I was barefoot again and happily so; shoes were only something I wore when absolutely necessary. "No chances, we melt anything that even looks like it could be silver," Dean tells us, stopping a few feet in front of the Impala.

"We're gonna have to break in since Lori's stayin' with her dad at the hospital," Sam adds, turning his head to look at me. I shrug, holding out a hand for Dean's lock pick.

"Well, I could use the practice." Dean pulls the small tool out of his pocket and lays them in my outstretched palm. "Who's goin' where?"

"I'll take the church," Dean says. Sam takes the house, which leaves me with the basement and getting the fire ready. "Oh, and Sammy, stay out of her underwear drawer." Sam scoffs with a small smile as I lead the way to our destinations; picking the lock on the front door of Lori's house first and then the church's side door.

Holding the flashlight out in front of me, I begin looking around the musty basement for anything that could be silver—finding a cup, a shovel, some silverware, a tiny pot, and some jewelry. Like Dean said, we can't afford to take any chances because that could get someone killed; most likely one of us since we're basically the dumb kids that poke a hornet's nest with a friggin' stick. "Alrighty, let's get started on that fire," I mumble to myself with a self-satisfied smile, carefully walking around the piles of junk to the furnace.

I strike a match on the iron side of the furnace and toss it onto the logs piled inside followed by half a container of salt, and then all the things I've found. Dean crouches next to me, dumping the items he'd found out of a burlap sack and into the flames. "Wouldn't have found the actual hook down here, would ya," he asks with a wry smile.

"If I had I would 'a said somethin', Einstein." He chuckles, nodding his head and looking up at the stairs as Sam begins his descent into the dark hole that is this basement. "What about you, Sammy, find anything that you'd keep in your pocket—a thong or two maybe?"

"God, you're as bad as Dean sometimes," he smirks.

"What's that supposed to mean," Dean and I ask in unison. Sammy throws the pillowcase full of silver into the fire and we watch as in begins to burn and melt, feeling a little too full of confidence. This case had been a doozy and I'll be glad when it's finally over and I can go visit Lilly. A squeaky floorboard upstairs makes us pause, watching as dust falls from above us. I pull my pistol from the waistband of my skirt at the same time as Dean and Sam; then follow them quickly but quietly up the rickety stairs into the main part of the church.

After pausing in the doorway with our weapons raised we can barely make out the weeping form of Lori sitting in one of the rows of pews. I pat Sam's shoulder, Dean and I going back downstairs and letting Sam comfort the blonde while we make sure that everything was melting. "You sure it was smart leaving Sam up there when Hook's attached to Lori," I ask, finding and iron poker to push a silver cup more into the fire and watching as it slowly begins to melt.

Dean shrugs," If somethin' happens up there we'll still hear it, Liza." I nod, thinking of Lilly and how I would explain such a long absence to her. She hates it when I stay gone for so long, but it is part of the job and I'm doing everything I can think of to keep her out of it—I want her to have a normal life and a family of her own, not to be an obsessed hunter like I was raised to be. Screaming jerks me out of my thoughts and sends me running up the stairs with Dean right behind me.

"I knew we should've stayed up there," I shout, pistol in hand while Dean just grumbles under his breath and readies the sawed-off shotgun. We follow the screams into what looks like an office, Hook standing over Lori, ready to do its worst. "Hey, bitch!" Hook turns in my direction and Dean nails it with the rock salt-filled shells, making the spirit disappear for a short time.

"I thought we got all the silver," Sam yells.

"I thought so too," I nod, looking around us for the ghost. "But apparently we missed something, so get off your ass and start lookin'!" Sam looks down at Lori and seems to notice something I didn't.

"Where'd you get that chain?" Lori and I both look down at her necklace and I see immediately what Sam meant. A silver cross on a silver chain hung around her neck and it could be the key to killing the bastard.

"My dad gave it to me." She's close to tears again, but we don't have time to comfort her. "He said it was a church heirloom." Sam snatches it and tosses it to Dean to go take care of down in the basement. Before Dean had the chance to move, a scratching sound reaches our ears. It looked like Jacob was dragging his hook along the wall, gouging it like he no doubt wanted to do to all of us. It starts on the ceiling in the room we're in and that gives Dean enough motivation to start running and throw the shotgun and shells to Sam. Jacob appears out of thin air, surprising me and making me slow to react; knocking me into a wall and the air from my lungs. Gasping, I watch as his slowly begins to burn, meaning we'd picked the right item this time.

About fucking time something went right!

* * *

The next morning we call the cops and give them our report of fighting off a crazed lunatic and making him run for the hills. I climb into the back seat of the Impala, my feet resting on the back of the front seat near Dean's head. "You know, I believe I won out little wager," he smirks," you have to do something I want."

"And what would that be," I ask around a yawn.

"Hmm, well, it involves a bed and I don't mean sleepin'." With a smile, I roll my eyes.

"Fine, you'll get it after I'm rested up, not before." The entire time we were talking, he'd been watchin' Sam in the side mirror until said person is sitting beside him in the front seat.

"We could stay a little longer..." Sam shakes his head, relaxing in his seat and nursing his cut arm.

_I understand about indecision/But I don't care if I get behind/People livin' in competition/All I want is to have my peace of mind./Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder/Hope it doesn't take too long/Can'tcha you see there'll come a day when it won't matter/Come a day when you'll be gone_


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Back to the Past

Vivian never expected what happened that quiet night when everything had started out so perfectly. Her father would be coming back soon to spend Christmas with her and her little sister—the only family the General had left. Vivian sighs happily, making sure her dress was in perfect order to make her father happy; he loved things to be perfect and he expected his girls to look and behave as he'd taught them to be. She picks up the note she'd gotten two days ago, re-reading the words written in her father's small handwriting.

_Vivian,_

_I am writing to let you know that I will begin the journey back to our home for Christmas only. By the time you receive this letter, and if all things go well, I should be home in only three days. There's been talk around the camp about spies and such like; I don't want you to offer any stranger lodgings for yours and little McKenzie's safety._

_With love,_

_General Grant L. Mayson_

He would be back sometime today and she couldn't wait to see him again. McKenzie was only four and was having a difficult time remembering their father, having been two when he left the last time to fight in the war. Here in their home it was quiet and almost unaffected by the war except for a few troops marching by and asking for a bit of food to help them; one man, not with the army, stayed to help out and had said he wanted to court Vivian.

Of course, Flynn would have to ask her father first, and she hoped that her father would say yes and give her this one thing. "Viv," Flynn calls, walking up the stairs and stopping just outside her door, long brown hair matted to his face in spots where it'd come out of its tie. "Maria said dinner's nearly finished and asked me to come get ya 'fore I cleaned myself up."

Laughing a little, Vivian nods, brushing the loose stranding behind the tall man's ear. "Alright, hurry up and get clean and put on somethin' nice; my dad should be home tonight and he likes things perfect."

"No one's perfect."

"Hmm, you're pretty close sometimes." He smiles, blue eyes' glittering with what she believes is love—he leans down to kiss her lightly on the lips, sighing when he takes a step back. "One day we'll be married and we won't have to worry about my father and what he thinks is perfect." Flynn smiles again, entering the room across the hall to get cleaned up. Vivian, lifts the skirt of her dress slightly, careful not to show skin, and makes her way downstairs and into the kitchen; helping McKenzie to set the table.

* * *

Maria, McKenzie, Flynn, and Vivian immediately stand when the General enters the sitting room, his two daughters walking over and giving him a tight hug; missing the warmth he gave off. "Aw, my girls," Grant chuckles, hugging them back and giving Maria and nod. When Grant's happy green eyes land on Flynn his eyes darken and his eyes narrow into a fierce glare. "Who is this man and why is he in my house?" Vivian shrinks back, shoving McKenzie behind her nanny in case her father grew too angry.

"This is Flynn, he's been helping us for nearly a year now," Vivian tells him quietly, head bowed as she was unable to meet her father's gaze. "He's a good man and...And..."

"And what, Vivian?" Flynn steps forward, looking too confident for Grant's liking.

"I think what your daughter's trying to say is that I wish to court her, sir," he says in a cool voice, lightly touching Vivian's arm with the tips of his fingers to see if she was okay. "And I think you're scaring the little one." Grant grinds his teeth in anger, knowing this man could be dangerous and that his eldest daughter couldn't see the bad in anybody until they proved it. "Perhaps we should talk about this tomorrow, General, your family is tired and I'm sure you are to after riding for so long."

"You can be sure we'll talk about this," the General snarls, storming up the stairs to his private study for some much needed quiet.

"Maybe I should go check on him." Flynn shakes his head, taking her arms and leading her up the stairs to her room.

"No, you need your rest as well; I'm sure we'll be having some excitement soon enough." Flynn kisses her again for a little longer than usual; his mind thinking of what he would be able to have soon...

* * *

A loud bang makes Vivian jerk awake with a start, looking around blindly for a book of matches—finally finding some and lighting the oil lamp on her bedside table. Her room is empty but she can still hear noises somewhere in the house. Hesitantly, she leaves her bed and starts across the room to the door, but before she can make it there her door slams open to reveal the grinning faces of two men; neither of which are familiar. "Who are you," Vivian demands, sounding just as scared as she feels do to the tremor in her voice.

"They're my brothers." She looks past the two men, finding Flynn staring at her calmly. He walks past the two men and over to her, stopping a couple feet away to admire her. "She's mine, don't hurt the little girl, and shut the door behind you." The two men agree readily enough, leaving Flynn alone with Vivian, eyes greedily taking in her heaving bosom and the skin revealed by her shift. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Viv; I had this planned since before I even met ya." Vivian slaps him then, hard enough to make his head turn. Chuckling, Flynn catches her wrist before she could hit him again—pulling her flush against him.

"Let me go, you disgusting little worm!" She struggles against him as he continues to push her to the bed in the corner of the room; then pushes her down on it and crawls on top of her.

"Been waitin' a long time for this..."

**This is gonna be an original case that I came up with, sorry if it sucks.**


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